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Davonte leaned forward, all sense of fair game gone from his expression.
“You’ve got one week to return my property,” he instructed, stabbing his finger into the surface of his desk. “If you're not back in this office in exactly one week I'm going to put a hit on your head worth so much that your own damn mother would take the deal. You feeling me?”
I stifled the growl that rose at the casual mention of my mother. He didn’t know shit about my mother because if he did, Davonte would know there wasn’t an amount of money on this planet that convince my mother to sell out her only son.
“Yeah, I feel you,” I answered, careful not to let my temper get out of control.
There weren’t many things I was protective over, but my dead mother’s memory was one of those things.
I slowly pocketed the money. “Sounds like you've got a deal. One week,” I confirmed.
Davonte smiled as if we’d just completed a pleasant business deal.
“Don't fuck up. I'd hate to kill you.”
I walked out of his office on my own two feet but I knew I’d left something behind.
Something that felt a lot like my dignity. But hell, what had it ever done for me in the past?
Fuck it, maybe Davonte was right.
I was made to be a thug.
Chapter 6
Charlie
Hope was a dangerous thing.
I was pissed at Damon for making me feel — if only for a second — that I had a chance with him helping me.
Damon was just like everyone else in this town, bowing and scraping for Davonte’s approval, willing to suck a dick just to get out of this fucking hell-hole.
The bitter wind ate into my bones as I walked the back streets, wondering where the hell I was going to go, where I could be safe from Davonte.
Who was I kidding? Unless I walked my happy ass out of Detroit, there was nowhere safe from that sociopath.
I cursed Tommy’s decision to get tangled up in The Underground, even though just thinking of my little brother made me tear up. I was pissed at him but I missed him, too.
We’d been close because our parents were fuck-ups.
All we’d had was each other.
Our father was a weak-assed individual with the moral strength of a wet cardboard box.
Hell, the only saving grace I’d ever had was that he hadn’t been interested in fucking me, so I guess I could count that as a blessing.
Not all my friends had been so lucky.
The state took my best friend, Alondra, away from her dad when we were in the sixth grade.
One day at lunch Alondra let slip that her daddy had been fingering her since she was five.
By the time she’d hit twelve, he’d figured it was time to go for the real deal.
I hadn’t seen Alondra since that day social services came.
All I could do was hope that wherever she’d landed, it was better than where she’d started.
But Alondra’s story wasn’t unique. Hell, more than half the girls I knew had some kind of fucked up story to tell.
Creepy uncles, handsy boyfriends of desperate single moms, perverted stepbrothers…actual brothers…
I shuddered.
So, I guess I was fortunate in that respect that my dad hadn’t been a pervert but being willing to sell out your kids to the dirtiest kingpin in Detroit was a form of prostitution, too.
I walked against the wind, gritting my teeth as the chill ate through my thin jacket.
I hated Detroit.
I wanted to go somewhere sunny and warm. Like Florida or California.
Somewhere that didn’t freeze your lungs with a single breath and the poverty level wasn’t hovering somewhere along the medieval peasant level.
But how the hell was I going to get out of this place? I had no real money, no car, no place to stay and nowhere to go — and a narcissistic sociopath wanted me in his bed.
I nearly choked on the toxic mix of fear and desperation bubbling up in my throat.
One thing I did know, I had to get out of the open and off the street.
I couldn’t go home, couldn’t involve my friends, and I certainly couldn’t return to Damon’s place.
Where did that leave me?
Fucking screwed.
I thought of Damon again.
If only he’d been a good guy. He could’ve been the answer to my problems.
He was so fucking big. Like the Hulk without the green skin.
He was muscle on top of muscle and those crazy dark eyes were enough to scare away the devil.
But I hadn’t felt scared.
If anything, I’d felt safe.
Ha. What a joke.
I am apparently a terrible judge of character.
Another blast of wind nearly sent me to the icy sidewalk and I ducked into a corner cafe. I had enough for a cup of coffee.
At least that would warm me up some.
I made my way to the counter, ordered a black coffee, and curled my frozen fingers around the hot, cardboard cup.
I snagged a table away from the window and tried to make my coffee last as long as I could, at least long enough to thaw out so my brain could work.
Anyone that I involved would be at risk so I couldn't turn to anyone who cared about me.
But I couldn't exactly sleep on the street either. Freezing to death wasn't an option I was going to entertain.
Hard choices.
This was exactly how Davonte trapped people into turning to him for help. He took away all of their options so that he was the best and only way to survive.
I thought of the future I had to look forward to if I chose Davonte.
When he was pleased, he was relatively generous.
That’d been my dad’s argument.
/> “He treats his girls real good,” Frankie had whined, casting me a perplexed look. “Fancy clothes, parties, some of them even get cars.”
“Yeah, a real humanitarian,” I’d quipped darkly, shaking my head at how gross my dad was. “Those women are just walking vaginas. That’s all he wants from them. There’s no equality between them. The man makes me sick. And you want me to sign on for that? Fuck that and fuck you.”
“You ain’t so smart, little girl,” he’d sneered. “You could play your cards right and do something useful for your family for once in your life. Get yourself set up like that one woman he put up in her own swanky apartment on the good side of town, not to mention what Davonte could do for your brother. Time to start thinking of someone besides yourself.”
That was rich coming from him.
I’d ignored his threat. When had my father ever said anything of value? Never. And I didn’t see a reason why he’d start now.
And that swanky apartment? Just because it had a dishwasher and a bell man, didn’t make it uptown.
I’d rather hand wash all my dishes for the rest of my life than live with the knowledge that I’d paid for my conveniences on my back (or knees).
I don't know where it came from but my sense of right and wrong was too firmly ingrained in my personality to allow myself to sink to Davonte’s level.
If all things had been equal, I would've went to college. I tried to talk Tommy into leaving with me.
But he wouldn't and I knew I couldn't leave him behind. All the good my sacrifice had done…Davonte had ended up killing Tommy in the ring anyway.
Don't think of Tommy. I didn't have the luxury of breaking down.
Six months ago my brother was alive.
Some days it felt like a lifetime.
In spite of my best efforts, a tear snaked down my cheek and I wiped it away quickly.
One of the baristas looked at me with concern. I turned away, discouraging her from coming over to comfort me.
It wasn't that I couldn't have used a little human kindness it was that I was afraid of involving anyone in my mess.
The barista got the message and went about her business. I scrubbed my hands over my face, desperately hoping for a miracle.
